I try to lift up my head, but my neck fails and my head smacks the laptop again. Shit. Passed out with the lights on, too. Gotta stop...ooomff. Doing that.

"Okay, Panther, ready? We are getting up on the count of three."

He chirps.

"Fuck you, cat."

Chirp.

"Seriously, I can do this. This is happening."

Chirp.

"Why do you have no faith in me, Pan?"

Chirp.

"I have had enough of your shit. It is time to get out of bed. Hangover be damned -- shit. Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. Shit. Wow. SHIT. Hey. Hey, Panther?"

Chirp.

"Why am I sleeping in my bed?"

My body slams upright and sweep my hands up to slip the hair from my face, leaving a trail of cash along the bed. I look in my hand.

"Why am I furiously clutching a stack of cash?"

I shoot out of bed, knocking Panther onto the floor and damn near stepping into a mug of soup.

"WHY IS THERE SOUP ON MY FLOOR?" I never eat my bedroom.

Is someone here? MoLinder's out of town. Oh god. Oh, god, fuck you, St. Patrick, and all of your days. I couldn't have seriously, I mean, there is no way...no. Thank god. Jesus fucking Christ, how the fuck did I get home last night?

"Wow. Fucking...wow." I pick up the mug of soup and carry it into the kitchen. Purse? Well, the contents are spread around the floor. Check. Keys? On the hook. Check. Shoes? Heels are smashed down. So I didn't wear my shoes home...which explains the soaking wet socks lying in front of the television. I'm still holding some cash in my hand...about thirty-five dollars.

"So I took a cab home. And I pulled out cash. Or I stole cash from someone. Either is possible, right? Wow. Wow. Wow wow wow shit-owwwww!" I stub my toe on the filing cabinet and suck in a breath. That hurt. I look down at my foot. Apparently I skinned my heel last night. There's blood.

I don't time travel when I'm drinking. I'll have little brown outs, sure, where I don't remember one conversation or something, but I don't just lose fucking time. I walk into the kitchen. There is soup fucking everywhere.

Burp. Tastes like soup. At least I ate some of it.

What was I doing on my laptop? Oh, shit, did I send out drunk emails? I struggle back into my room and open my laptop. It's on youtube. This video. I am awesome. Self-high-five. I check my email. No drunken email messages, thank god.

"Holy fucking golly, what the hell? Wow. How did I--PIECE OF SHIT PHONE."

I knew exactly where to go for that - because I always sleep on top of my phone when I'm drunk. I don't do it on purpose. It just happens that way. I wake up, and Piece of Shit Phone is under my ass. Because it rings, you know? And my ass is a natural muffler. Kind of.

Piece of Shit Phone is exactly where I thought it would be, under the covers. There's also a small smear of blood from my heel near the foot of the bed. Lame. I check the messages. Around 12:30 I told Gyna I got home. Okay. I talked to Phil at 10:30 - definitely don't remember that. I texted Schmee the same text message twice - that I was too drunk to drive - once just before nine, and once at ten. I don't remember the second one.

Think, goddammit.

Call Gyna.

Network busy. Piece of Shit Phone. Go out on the porch. Daylight. Hot damn, it is wonderful outside. Okay, it's ringing. Gyna, answer your phone. You fucking whore, answer your phone. THIS IS IMPORTANT. I leave her a panicked message the length of her voicemail.

Okay, it's 9:30 on a Sunday morning, and she was with you last night. Let's be realistic here. She's asleep. PHIL. Call Phil.

"Lo."

"Phil!"

He starts laughing. "What's up dude? How you feeling? Are you hungover as hell?"

"Dude, did I call you last night?"

"No, man, I called you. You don't remember? That's awesome."

"Okay. Okay, cool. How long did we talk?"

"I don't know, ten minutes or something. I wanted you to come to Estelle's but you said you were hammered and playing cards. And I think you had a cigar."

"Good fucking golly, that explains throat hangover."

"Maybe you smoked pot."

"Definitely no. Besides, that only happens when I'm fucking wasted and trying to prove how hardcore I am. Once a year."

"Awwww, Ross, babe, you know you're never going to be hardcore."

"That doesn't negate the delusion."

"So what do you remember? You said you were at some dude's house."

I rub my forehead. People are walking toward the church down the street. I should've put on a bra. "Clutter. I was at Clutter's. And there was booze. There was beer, and then there were white russians, and then...then I was drinking vodka and strawberry crush."

"Very Irish."

"I was smart enough to lay off the whiskey to avoid fighting. I think."

"That all sounds fucking disgusting."

"And then we talked about playing asshole, and then...I woke up with my face on my laptop holding a wad of money."

Welcome to time travel Rassles. I avoid the St. Patty's day massacre, instead i drank and smoked the Mondo weed and ended up ridiculously stoned and sitting in my favorite hipster bar while the Tranny next to me bummed my cigarettes and smiled alot at me. My friends were highly amused.

Oh, St. Patrick, you vile saint. I woke up Sunday at my place (good!), with my buddy's spare keys to my place left on the counter (less good!), and no memories of the previous night past eleven o'clock (not so good! - but expected), at least three houseguests gone (okay!), the clocks changed to reflect the lost hour (considerate!), and the back door standing wide open.

Rachel: Honestly, the morning after was more exciting than the day itself. We just hung out and got drunk. But I did watch some guy jump into the river after they dyed it green and the cops had to fish him out.

RF: I'm really started to get sick of cats and their smugness.

Nurse: I googled spruiking, and I agree.

Sid: First of all, he belongs to my roommate. Second of all, I don't own any motherfucking cats. I am a dog person. Third of all, if I were to have a cat, he better be one that chirps, because it's the fucking most adorable thing any cat has ever done and I hate having so many cats around I DO NOT WANT TO BE A CAT LADY.

Del: Back atcha, baby.

Chris: He is such a shady sonofabitch, no?

Kono: Thanks. I do not like it as much as I thought I would. But when I imagined myself time traveling, it was in a TIME MACHINE and not a DRUNKEN STUPOR. Also, nice.

Thanny: Thank you, sir. I broke no noses. But I did mutter and stagger, if that counts.

Franklin: and ne'er again.

Ellie: I AM like a detective. I was thinking Columbo.

JMH: Man, I hate it when I wake up with the door wide open. Especially at hotels.

OG: I do not want another weekend like that for a looooong time.

Kat: Sweet Moses, that is ridiculous. And mesmerizing.

Ambi: That is my exact time of black outness as well! Do you think, perhaps, for that seven hour period we were actually hanging out together but like telepathically? IN OUR MINDS? Because I say TOTALLY.

Daisy: Please tell me they aren't damp because you drunk pissed all over them. Because I don't do that, but I've definitely woken up next to people who drunk piss on their cigarettes, and then they get all angry and I'm like, "fucking go to the bathroom before you pass out, a-hole."

Say something

So, I have a tendency to start sentences with, "So, I have a tendency…” Sometimes I go places, wander off, get lost, and find my way back without realizing I was lost in the first place. And then everyone's all, "where've you been?" and I'm all, "I dunno, over there somewhere." Sometimes I skip breakfast and regret it later.